He touched my forehead so lightly – his right hand, me on the left washing coffee mugs in the sink, to signal he needed to open the cupboard I was standing in front of, eye-level. On our wedding day he carried all of the furniture out of our small bedroom, created a sanctuary. This is what I need – strong and soft in equal parts.
My grandmother on my father’s side is a tiny Irish catholic gypsy. She reads palms and believes in the magical power of stones to heal and protect. I don’t believe my stones have magical powers but I do love them and I love how they come from the earth and are so unique. In high school I amassed quite a collection of different semi-precious stones, given to me by said grandmother, but I don’t know what happened to them. They might be buried away in my mother’s house in Pennsylvania somewhere.
It’s for my Drawing 1 class and it’s an abstracted sort of portrait of Josephine Baker. She was a black performer who lived in Paris in the 1920s. Here’s an in progress picture and then some of it finished. It’s going to be in a show themed on the Harlem Renaissance for the college I’m taking the drawing class at.